The World Changed, Not Us
by Minty-Nutmeg
Summary: In truth, although he couldn't say it aloud, he had no plan – he was stuck. He couldn't protect anybody but himself. He could go alone – nobody to lose, then. But he couldn't – he just couldn't – do this. He wasn't a hero. No matter how much he wished he was. GlennxOFC.
1. Chapter 1: Overhead

_An excited 'Hey!' to all my new readers, and a giant 'HEY YOU GUYSSSSS!' to all of my returning ones! :D I recently had someone suggest to me that my OC in my DarylxOC fic 'Something to Rely On' would be very compatible with Glenn in a pairing. The thought wouldn't leave my mind, and I had to write something with them together - but I didn't want to change my fic pairing for StRO: Daryl and my OC *do* get along really well as well. So, I've created this minor AU type setting, where my OC arrived in the survivor's lives just a few days later in slightly different circumstances - but with the biggest changes._

_You don't need to have read Something to Rely On, so don't worry about that (although, you should. Go do it now! It's pretty good! This fic can wait for your return (and your review ;D (PARENTHESIS!)))_

_Anyway, enough of my gabbing - enjoy! :3_

_DISCLAIMER OF UN-NECESSITY: I do not own The Walking Dead. If I did, do you think I'd be here right now, writing fanfics for my own work? No, I'd be working all of my pairings into the main plot-line ;3_

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Chapter 1 - Overhead

Sometimes, looking out at the setting sun, hearing children run about at your feet, Dale thought you could almost forget that you were in the middle of the apocalypse.

Fixing his hat back onto his gradually balding head as it shifted in the light summer wind, he contemplated on the welcome lack of walkers they had seen lately. Ever since the initial clearing out of the area, there had been next to none of what Glenn had taken to calling 'geeks' along with Daryl and T-Dog – what remained of a scraggly looking loner of an old man or wolfish runaway teenager would sneak onto their boarders every so often, if they kept the fires on too long at night or conversed too enthusiastically during the day; but they were swiftly dispatched by a blast from Shane's shotgun, a bolt from Daryl's crossbow, or, less often, Dale's own, reliable old hunting rifle, which was leaning against his chair, always loaded and at the ready as he took his place at the top of the RV, self-appointed guard of the camp.

Dale coughed, his healthy lungs without a wheeze about them, reverberating smoothly and hitchless. Whenever he coughed, it brought back unpleasant memories of his wife in the later stages of her lung cancer, when she would bark up blood and bile throughout the day, her agonised rasps of breathing echoing loudly and unendingly through Dale's head as he sat vigil at her side, silent, just watching her - watching her die. Eyes glazed over with hopelessness that never cleared until he met the girls, he had wished that he could give her his lungs and get swept away in a flood of cruel sickness instead.

Frowning, squeezing the binoculars tighter in his hands, he spotted Amy happily stroll through the centre of the camp, a tin bucket full of mushrooms for dinner in her hands. Seeing her, he forced the unhappy thought away from his mind – the past was past, however painful it may be, and the girls were what mattered now. He had vowed to look after them as they had looked after him, and he would die himself before breaking that steadfast promise.

Keeping his vow in mind, he steeled himself and started scouring the horizon with a newfound vigour, a smile on his face. A while passed with him up there, keeping an eye on T-Dog and Jacqui as they made their way down to the quarry to help a disgruntled Andrea with the washing, laughing all the way about some story he had told. Catching a glimpse of Andrea's golden mane as she turned and greeted the others, quirking her impish lips as she made a sullen remark on her workload, Dale could feel his eyes soften, leaving him unwilling to move his gaze for a while.

Morales' quiet wife had come to him then, carrying a purified cup of water for him to drink, a bucket full of the stuff at her side as she passed it around the camp, and, from the knowing glint in her eyes, she had seen where his gentle eyes lay fixed. For a while, they exchanged conversation, Dale gradually gulping down his glass, she telling him that she could give him her parasol from her car if he wanted, to shield him from the sun, it was really fine: she wasn't using it, it was just something she had bought when she was pregnant in Mexico and finding it too hot – when one of her children pelted over, holding her doll and loudly complaining of having gotten mud on it. Giving him the well-humoured smile of an affectionate mother going off to her duty, she departed with a casual 'She looks nice today, huh?', leaving him chuckling good-naturedly at her shrewdness.

He had only just brought his attention back to his task when there came an abrupt yell from the underbrush near the boarders of the camp. Taking a swift hold of his rifle, pulling back the safety and bringing his eye to the dotted sight, he stopped upon recognition of the reluctantly proud face of Daryl Dixon, a fresh line of squirrel meat tied to his belt, and a large buck of a deer heaved onto his back. Recognising the bountiful dinner they would be enjoying, Amy sprang up immediately, cheerfully offering her assistance, which he said he didn't need, when T-Dog came up the path with Andrea and Jacqui, saw his bearings, and instantly took hold of the other end of the beast, ignoring Daryl's protests, exclaiming to his girlfriend about how they were going to spit-roast the thing like your great-grandfather would.

Feeling his stomach rumble when he thought of the feast they would be having that night, Dale reluctantly turned away, sighing contentedly as the aroma of tender cooking venison gradually began to fill the air, enthusiastic conversations starting to spring up around the fire as people began to filter into the bustling centre of camp, pulling overthrown tree-trunks round the burnt patch of ground where the fire was, hugrily catching glances of the slow-forming dinner at their side. Watching the sun begin its slow crawl down the vast, cloudless Georgian sky, Dale stood, stretched his old, wily limbs, and decided to join them, slinging his beaten old hunting rifle over his shoulder and climbing down the ladder.

It was on the last wrung of the ladder when there was an audible, painful-sounding crack that it took him a few seconds to realise had come from him, and he stumbled down, his feet lying flat on the ground as he bent over, quickly rubbing his abruptly twinging spine, groaning quietly.

Mumbling a few choice words to himself, Dale heard a sly voice call out, "Feeling your age, old man?" Turning, he found the mischievous face of Andrea before him, with Amy's more concerned gaze peeking over her shoulder, a soggy rag she was using to clean a pot for Lori in her soft hands.

Throwing her sister a vaguely scolding glare, pinching her able shoulder between her forefinger and thumb, Amy told her off, "Andrea, don't say that!" She turned back to Dale, giving him a gentle, piteous smile, quieter than before, "Aw, Dale, 're you okay? You hurt your back?"

Scoffing lightly, Andrea shook her head, rolling her eyes, "He is just _fine_, Amy," she glanced at Dale, her eyes lighting up with expectation, "right, Dale?"

After a pause, admiring the young glint in Andrea's sparkling blue eyes, Dale stood up tall again and brought a hand up to rub at his stubbly chin, giving the worried looking Amy a broad, reassuring smile which she quirked an eyebrow at, unconvinced, "I'm good as new."

After a moment, Andrea's eyes softened and she gave a satisfied, quiet bark of laughter, turning back to the fire and walking away as she called over her shoulder with a verbal grin lacing her good-natured words, "I'll save you a seat, golden oldie."

Amy rolled her eyes half-heartedly, looked back to Dale, gave him a wink, said, "I'll give you my pillow tonight, to lie on," then strolled back to grab a heaping plate before he could complain that he didn't need it. Halting for a moment, touched by their care, Dale ignored the throbbing pain of his back and joined them, a plastic plate already awaiting him on a ravenous Andrea's lap, with a sly 'Forgot your cane?' accompanying it.

Before they knew it, the camp had settled into a jolly, exuberant warmth that they hadn't experienced for a while, and the feeling of just being on a long-haul camping trip began to settle in even more with every joke thrown into the fray, every shared chop of venison, every helpful grabbing of vegetables for another, with conversation finally turning away from plans and what the walkers were to topics that were actually ordinary – where did you come from, what was your brother's name, what did you major in at highschool: questions which didn't seem like much, but nonetheless brought them all closer together with their sheer normalcy. By the time Glenn and Shane arrived back, looking exhausted and brow-beaten, touting boxes of canned food and candy for the kids – something Sophia actually squealed at with joyous surprise – as well as a big supply of gas cans for their myriad of cars and vans, things seemed to be getting to the point where they were actually enjoying themselves.

Bounding over with a sudden energy when he saw the half-carved carcass of the deer Daryl – who sat a little away from the main fire with his stoned brother, silently ravaging his food – had caught, Glenn set his dusty baseball cap on the ground, piled his plastic plate high with venison and moaned with delight at the taste of meat other than 'chicken'. At Glenn's plain ecstasy, a renewed sense of togetherness and good humour encircled the camp, with more than a few digs at his blissful grin whilst not bothering to hold back their own. Shane caught Lori's eye, threw back his shoulders, put down his shotgun and sat down next to her to eat, with no-one - aside from a happily oblivious Carl - missing the secretive little nudge they gave each other when near again.

Time passed well, relished by them all. Even Sophia and Carol started to enjoy themselves when the perpetually scowling Ed walked away without a word, Carol hastily inferring that he had a stomach-ache, despite Dale having heard him specifically mumble about 'damned scroungers' when he stormed off. Having finished her plate, with everyone else around her starting to snack on some packs of cookies Glenn and Shane had brought back, patting their full bellies in content, Andrea excused herself to go to the bathroom.

Watching as she gracefully hopped up the steps to the RV and letting the door shut behind her, Dale turned to Glenn, who was in the process of trying to dislodge a piece of venison from his gullet after laughing too hard at a joke T-Dog had made about rubber ducks, and, throwing one more look over his shoulder to the Winnebago, he addressed the young man, "Glenn, I was hoping that, next time you go up Atlanta way, you could jump into a drugstore and get me something for this old, cricky back of mine."

Amy swivelled to face Dale, gave him a wry smile that exuded wily knowingness as to why he had chosen that specific moment to make his request, whilst Glenn turned to him, blinking as he finally cleared his airway with the help of a hefty pat on the back by Jacqui, and gasped out, "Yeah, sure."

This simple reply came with it an abrupt downpour of requests.

"Oh, if you're going to the drugstore, could you get vitamins for the kids? They need supplements to keep healthy."

"Sure."

"Can you grab me some antihistamines for my allergies?"

"Sur-"

"-Get me some toothpaste, too, please."

"Su-"

"-Some ibuprofen—"

"—Uh-"

"-Pepto-Bismol—"

"—Wait, I-"

"-Tampons?— "

"—_Wait, what?"_

As the requests started to get increasingly personal, they all collapsed in a fit of laughter, watching Glenn's face grow gradually redder until he resembled some form of racial stereotype. Eventually, he resorted to yelling as loud as he could and stomping his feet in a desperate attempt to override their demands, but they wouldn't have anything of it – the younger ones all egging him on with outrageous items they had no use for (Glenn's yelp of 'A _what?'_ earning an impressive bout of new ruckus) until Shane, still gently grinning as he slowly rubbed an unusually quiet Lori's shoulder stepped in and told them to keep it down.

Turning and watching as an immediately interested Andrea came back to sit, joining in on tormenting Glenn, Dale leaned back on the log he was sitting on, Amy giving him a smile as he looked up at the stars and allowed the conversation to form into a comforting white-noise, smiling to himself.

You could almost forget that there was no rescue ever coming to save them from hell.

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Carefully stepping over an abandoned suitcase that had burst open to reveal now pathetically defunct bank-notes, giving a nearby, toppled over children's pram a wide berth with a grimace, Glenn checked his map again.

Having given himself a few days of rest after the last expedition he had went on with Shane to grab gas and supplies, he had woken up that morning bright and early, groggily wiping his eyes and wolfing down a pack of stale potato chips that didn't seem to have any taste to them, washing them down with a dusty, lukewarm can of soda. Carol, ever the early starter, had packed him a lunch of leftover venison, dry, overly sweet candy and plenty of reused bottles of water, telling him to keep hydrated with a small, gentle smile.

Lugging his rucksack of supplies onto his back and making sure his ever-present map was in its usual spot in his pocket, he went to Shane, who was gathering a clean shirt from a contented looking Lori, and took the usual warning of 'Don't dent the fender' that came with the jingle of Shane's Hummer keys. He had set off with only a quick goodbye to quiet little Sophia, sitting and working on maths problems with Carl, who asked him to find them some tubs of ice-cream, if there were any refrigerators still working in the world – Carl's smile a little less hopefully expectant than Sophia's when Glenn accepted the task willingly in exchange for a few, heaping scoops himself.

The short drive up to the normal spot by the abandoned train tracks where he left his car had been distinctly uneventful, and he had had to avoid far less walkers than usual in the downtown shopping area. Finding the drugstore wasn't hard – the still ticking neon sign featuring a dripping syringe, which the owners looked to have tried to cover with their names in an unsuccessful attempt to appear less like a druglord's place of business, had been a large point of reference – and he had quickly jimmied the lock, jammed his crowbar in the small gap at the door, and silently broken into the dusty haven of medicine.

Paying careful attention to his list of what to get – a 'looting list', Andrea had dubbed it – nervously glazing over the feminine products side of the order sheet, he had quickly filled his bag with the now practiced hand of one who had to stay steady and carry on with his task in swiftly changing circumstances of danger. Placing the last pack of allergy pills on top of the overflowing pile of supplies, he had zipped up the bag tightly, heaved it back onto his shoulders, surveyed the area outside, and hurriedly made his way out into the street.

In trying to avoid the only sizable group of walkers he had seen that day, Glenn had taken a different route from his usual one, silently rolling his eyes at the ambling, mutilated bags of flesh bumping into walls and each other as they gathered round a building's entrance for no discernible reason other than being sheep following the flow of the brain-dead crowd. Rounding a corner and sneaking down an alleyway, he glanced down at his map another time before carefully replacing it in his pocket to be used in other times of need.

Taking a right to the next alley, he felt his mind wander, despite his best attempts to keep it focussed on the task at hand, on what they would be eating tonight – likely stewed remnants of the buck from the night before in some heavy broth of Lori's cooking - and began to feel his stomach grumble, unsatisfied with the offering of soggy sandwiches a few hours before. Coming to a dead-end, he paid little attention to the sound of a bird tweeting, worriedly taking out and consulting his map once more, confused as to what wrong turn he had made.

Backtracking, glancing around him in a sudden urge to make sure he was alone, Glenn quietly pushed a cardboard box full of school supplies out of his way with a shove of his foot, subconsciously wondering on whatever was the problem of the increasingly insistent bird – and didn't they all escape from the city after the walkers invaded, taking flight from their hungry, snapping jaws? Coming to what he could see as the right way forward, Glenn pushed it from his mind, when the abrupt sound of a stone being flung filled his ears.

Coming to a dead halt, eyes wide as he tried to determine if he'd imagined the sound, Glenn's shoulders tensed with surprise. Looking up as the unremitting bird yelped again, ready to shake off the uncomfortable, niggling feeling of being watched, he nearly dropped his map in shock, his jaw falling open and his eyes widening.

There was a woman waving at him on the roof of the building.

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_So? What do you thiiiink? C: Please gimme your thoughts, as always. If this isn't what you guys wanna see, that's fine, I'll just carry on with StRO and write this for funsies like usual (giggling madly to myself as my man Glenn gets some love), but if you'd like more chappies, feel free to give me your opinions - I'm always really, freakily excited when I see a new review pop up, like UWAAAAH THATSA FOR MEEEE!, so, if you want to bring a retarded smile to this idiot's face, review, my darlings! Peace out! ;D_


	2. Chapter 2: Catch

_Well, since I don't have to reply to anyone this time, (apart from saying thanks to all the people who added this to their alert list: this is for you! Hope you keep coming back, lol :L) let's get on with it! ;D ENJOY THE CHAPPIE! :D_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own any part of The Walking Dead. IF I DID...well. I'd be manufacturing little Daryl and Glenn dolls for you guys to snuggle with (and a Carl one to punch (WE WON'T FORGET ABOUT DALE, CARL. EVER. (*spoiler alert*))) ;U_

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Chapter 2 – Catch

One by one, drenched, dripping rats pulled themselves up through a blood-splattered sewer grate.

There was a lot of worth that had to be put in noting where rats _didn't _inhabit, as they were so omniscient around the world that there was really no place they couldn't exist, usually by furious scrapping over the dregs of humankind. Hence, when they were not in a place, it was bad news. This macabre little conga line of odious creatures gave a clear indication as to the condition of the city as a whole: everything was getting much, much worse as time went on, far from getting better. Not only were corpses shambling over the surface, they were now underground, in the water supplies, in the pipes and under every manhole cover. It was official.

The city was dead.

Glenn didn't pay much heed as a few, straggling vermin brushed against his leg as they desperately scurried away, spreading a viscous, coagulated brown smear wherever their tiny claws or mortally wounded tails, gnawed at by walkers, swiped over, or what their escape meant for the city or humanity as a whole, his eyes remaining saucer-like and pointed up above him.

Letting her arm fall, the woman looked expectantly at him, silent, a grimace that she was obviously trying to hide etched into her face, her face drained and pale. There was a pause as she waited for him to say something, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He just stared.

From the ground, Glenn couldn't really see any details of the nameless woman atop what looked like a shabby apartment block well – but there was one thing he could make out startlingly clear: the quiet desperation she exuded subconsciously.

Abruptly, he felt himself come back to reality. The woman, seeing him still frozen, seemed to be trying to mouth something to him, leaning dangerously over the edge of the roof in a brave attempt to snap him back to the present, but he couldn't make anything out, seeing only the blur of her mouth moving in an exaggerated, mime-like fashion. Fingers twitching as he tried to think of what to do, Glenn looked around him and suddenly spotted a ladder. Snapping his head up with an abruptness that hurt, he looked up from it and spotted a primitive, dilapidated fire-escape above it, creaky and dubious, with only a large, rusted metal pipe connecting it to the rooftop overhead.

Without hesitation, he sprinted over to the ladder as quietly as he could, realising in the back of his mind that the sound of desperate squeaks and dragging moans, paired with jolting squelching noises, indicated that a horde of walkers were beginning to close in, attracted by the sudden wave of fresh meat lapping in from the sewers. Swiftly, he climbed the rungs two at a time, his feet dancing over the steps in the ladder, with a steadiness that only came with practice in dire situations, climbing steadily up until he was unable to hear the squeals of slaughtered vermin.

Reaching the fire escape, he put an arm up first, pausing for the first time, unconvinced that he wasn't about to go crashing down a couple of stories into a quickly approaching mob of death, and found the landing shaky but stable enough. Sparing a glance behind him, he found the woman leaning back, looking deeply relieved, slowly letting out a pent up gasp of anxious air. She was holding her lower thigh, stooped over slightly and leaning away from her right, looking pained. Her eyes were boring into his, shining with hopeful anticipation, steady as a rock.

Wary of the growing crowd of walkers which he could see forming on the opposite street, he turned away and faced the pipe. Compared to it, the fire escape landing looked like a veritable powerhouse of strength, and he looked upon it like one might look upon a person attempting to hit a pinhead with a tennis-ball at 20 metres away: deeply uncertain and with a sharp twang of cynicism. Steeling himself, he jumped and flung himself forward to the pipe, latching onto it immediately.

Before he could pull himself up an inch, however, the fire escape had evidently decided that the small push he had given to it when he sprang up was the straw that broke the camel's weary back, suddenly collapsing, pulling down the loose latches holding it to the slum-like building and plummeting down with a metallic screech as it skidded across the brick wall and finally hurtled into the ground with a thunderous crash.

A drop of sweat started to form on Glenn's forehead, slowly trailing down his nose and dripping from his nostril. From behind him, he could hear the woman quietly gasp before she could stop herself. There was an abrupt silence, with the explicit, grotesque squelch of ripping flesh halting alongside the permeating moan dragging with it. Then, doubling in might, the gargled wheezes returned, the wet slap of raw meat hitting stone echoing down the street as a chaotic undulation of uneven footsteps started, falling into a syncopated march of destruction.

Breathing a wordless warning, the woman egged him on, and, despite not being able to see her with his face pressed against the corroding metal he was clinging to, he could tell she was seeing something worse than what he imagined. Gritting his teeth, he flung up his suddenly shaking arm as he was flooded with tense adrenaline, pulling himself up inch by inch as his feet swiped off the wall, finding little purchase in the cheap, smooth stone.

The groans, that had seemed to be at least a few minutes away before, were now starting to flood the alley, and time was beginning to race so hard against him that panic didn't have enough to set in as he heard hands clawing furiously below him. He could tell the walkers had seen him from the rising volume of their groans, which his mind, split between jumbled instinct and a strangely calm voice commenting on the situation, told him was probably attracting more of them as time went on.

Ignoring this fact, biting his tongue at the sudden desire to shout at the mass of faceless walkers snarling and snapping below him, he continued his slow ascent, finally reaching the topmost height of the pipe, half a foot below the edge of the roof. Without thinking, he sprung up, arms flying ahead to claw at the edge, clutching so tightly it hurt, and he heaved himself upwards, his legs pumping with power he didn't know he had.

Giving himself no time to breathe with relief, he turned to the woman, who was now pressed against the edge of the building she was on, leaning heavily on the brick surface and giving up all pretence of being alright. Her teeth were gritted tightly from effort to not groan in pain, and her short hair, looking like it had been roughly cut by her own hand in an attempt to protect herself from being grabbed, was sticking to her head with a thin layer of sweat. Grime was rubbed abrasively into her skin, festering in her tight, sensible clothes, down to her blood stained combat boots, with faded splashes of bile from walkers etched into nearly every stitch of her garments.

Glenn, throwing even more caution to the wind than he already had, paid no heed to the neat bandage tied across her left shoulder and the niggling thought thtat Shane would want to know if it was a bite, and instead mouthed to her, inflating the movements of his lips in an effort to help her understand him, aware of the hungry monsters below them, "Ladder?"

She shook her head.

Pausing, he looked down at the mob, skipping over the hunks of flesh still clinging to their decomposing lips, and across to her building. Then, he asked, still wordless, gesturing with his arm from her roof to his, a distance of a couple of feet, larger than usual, "Jump?"

Again, she gave a twitch of her head, and mouthed back, "Leg."

"Hurt?"

"Yes."

They both paused, thinking. Eventually, looking to the ground for a moment, she faced him again, eyes dark, "Will jump."

His eyebrows rose in surprise, then furrowed as he glanced at her calf, unbloodied and looking like it was twitching with a deeply stinging Charlie Horse, "But, leg?"

Shaking her head, she repeated, "Will jump."

She hesitated for a second before placing her hands flat on the brick, about to heave herself up when he stopped her, abruptly flinching forward and waving his arms, "Wait!" Stumbling a bit with surprise, she halted. Looking up, she quirked an eyebrow in question. Having got her attention, Glenn removed his rucksack, suddenly remembering the medical supplies he had scavenged, unzipped it, and began to furiously rummage through it, conscious of her body being perilously close to swaying over the bricks and plummeting her to her death. Pushing past more frivolous pills for stomach-ache, he found some of the mild painkillers he had taken for Dale, extracting them from a jumble of toilet paper.

Standing up again, letting the bag drop to the floor and pushing it out of the way, he waved the pack above her head and mimed throwing them so she would know to get ready to catch them, and, when she nodded her head, raising her arms and focussing on his hand, he threw them. She caught them swiftly without a hitch, barely looking – he briefly allowed himself to be impressed at her reflexes – and brought them to her face, looking down at what she had been thrown. Straightening with understanding, she looked up, smiled exhaustedly, and promptly opened it, popping out two tablets from the foil, taking them in her hand and gulping them back in a rough, dry swallow before stuffing the used pack in her back pocket, flashing him another twitch of her lips.

Glenn, thinking her ready, raised his arms, waiting for her to throw across her large hiking bag which lay on the ground next to her, bursting with supplies, when she held up a finger for an allowance of time, "Minute."

He nodded, dropping his arms as she bent down, quickly grabbing something from what looked like a folded-up tent tied securely to the top of her bag, leaves clinging to the plastic, retrieving a pole – a securing for the tent. With Glenn looking on curiously, she brought a hand to a small, dirty white bag with a large red cross emblazoned across it – Glenn abruptly realised it was a first-aid kit, a good quality one at that – that was tied to her waist with a wonky strap, rummaging through it. She swiftly revealed a roll of medical tape, and, without pause, lugged her right leg, which seemed to be spasming with the effort, onto the curb of the roof, set the pole close to it, and swiftly encircled it with a large swathe of tape, biting off the end and spitting out a fragment of the glue.

Turning to him once more, she nodded. Again, he readied his arms whilst she heaved up her giant camping bag, swinging it once, twice, and then throwing it. With the momentum of her swings and the sheer size of the bag, he caught it easily, pulling it up over the side of the building and setting it on the ground next to him, quickly joined by the first-aid bag she threw over next.

The moment had come.

This time, he didn't stop her when she pulled herself up on the ledge. He watched with anxious expectation, trying to hide it for her sake. Suddenly, with the horde of walkers thrashing stories below them, bloodied hands clawing upwards, the gap didn't seem so easy to cross. She seemed to think this, too, because she abruptly looked away from the edge of the roof and at him, instead – he letting an unsteady breath of air pass his lips as he held her grim stare.

There was a pause of a few seconds. She took a deep breath. He bit down on his tongue.

Then, she jumped.

People always say that when one is in danger, about to die, or about to witness someone else die, time slows down. It doesn't.

It speeds up.

She crashed into the side of the roof, missing the top by about half a foot. Glenn threw out his arm, dangled himself over the side, and caught her left arm, the closest to him, and saw how she nearly screamed as her shoulder was thrust back, the blood-speckled bandage tied around it suddenly awash with a wave of crimson, holding back enough so that all that came out was an agonized grunt. He flinched, his arms clenching with the effort of holding up a woman, straining to the point that he could feel his muscles start to fray against each other. Below, the walkers awoke from their drunken, instinctive stupor of bumping at the wall, snarling, nearly roaring, as they swiped at the air where the woman was swinging above.

Not bothering to mouth it anymore, knowing his voice would barely be heard above the bloodthirsty geeks, Glenn shouted, "Hold on!" He tried pulling her up, his feet leaving the ground as he heaved, his ribs screaming at him as he forced himself against the cement edge, she groaning as her shoulder was roughly jerked further, blood beginning to drip down her arm, her face growing paler as he yelled, gasping, "Just hold on!"

Gritting her teeth, she looked down, her breaths coming strained and heavy as she watched a walker climb over the crowd in a futile attempt to devour her feet. She paused. Then, voice quiet, eyes losing their gleam, she looked up and croaked, "Let me go."

Silence passed over them, punctuated by the walker's growls of hunger and the wet thumps of corpses getting crushed against walls. Glenn's eyes widened with horror.

Voice equally quiet, he spoke, "…What?"

She gave him an apologetic look, making him twitch his head back slightly with confusion, "I'm dragging you down with me." A silence passed again, and, when she spoke again, her voice was tender and quavering, with a tone of voice one might use during the slow death of another, piteous and comforting, "Just let me go, hon. I won't blame you."

Furiously shaking his head, mouth frantically moving as he tried to push through the panic that had finally caught up with him, Glenn whispered, "No, no, no," he pulled, and she bit her lip hard enough it bled, "What are you saying? Don't say that! Don't _say that!_" His eyes took on a maddening desperation, "I'm not letting go – you'll get up, I'm going to get you, ok? Just _hold on!_"

Blood dribbling from her mouth, landing on a walker's forehead and sending the geeks below into a new frenzy, she replied, voice intensely low as her arm quivered in pain, "I'm so sorry." She halted, squeezing her eyes shut with a painful grimace, and she ground out, anguish seeping into every word, "I am so sorry I got you in this. I am so _sorry._" She looked into his eyes, burning him with her determination, "You need to let go of me, now. You're _falling_."

Voice finding a roar that incensed the walkers further, eliciting a bloodthirsty howl that was now deafening him, smothering his senses so that he could barely hear his own voice bellowing at her, ignoring that he was starting to lose his grip, Glenn's eyes flashed, "_**Stop it!**__ You'll be fine - hold on, just keep holding my hand!" _He felt his voice break like a child's, desperate and unwilling to give in, and he captured her gaze, refusing to budge, "_**I'm not letting you go!**__"_

She was slipping.

His fingers twitched, furious, trying to grasp her tighter, but to no success: she was dangling lower and lower, and he was pushing himself further off of the roof, his legs barely there, now swinging behind him and clenching onto the stone with his knees. She was screaming at him, her body shaking, and she began to thrash, shoulder audibly cracking, trying to get him to release his hold, ignoring the ripping of her gaping wound, frantically trying to get him to listen to her pained cries of, '_No! No! NO! LET GO! LET GO!__** YOU'RE FALLING!**_'

When he saw her last inch of skin fall from his grasp, he lunged forward, and she let forth a bloodcurdling scream.

Overhead, a bird flew, sweeping over the corpse of Georgia, feathers quivering in the wind, soaring above them.

He had caught her.

With a sudden burst of power, both of her arms in his, he pulled, his muscles tearing, ears popping as his head seemed to explode, his ribs nearly cracking as he lifted her higher, higher still, pushing past the sour vomit suddenly racing up his gullet, grasping her torso, her shuddering arms abruptly hooking round his neck, her quaking legs flying up and folding into his front as he finally got her, whole, safe, against his chest, and collapsed against the ground.

They lay in silence – for how long, he couldn't tell. Both of them were gasping, the woman slowly rolling off of his chest, falling onto her back next to him, hips touching his, Glenn gurgling as he let bile seep into his mouth, coughing, spitting next to him as she looked up at the sky, dazed, eyes wide and disbelieving, tears of exertion rolling clear tracks down her dusty cheeks.

After a while, breaths starting to come more steadily, slowing, less hitched, losing their desperate, gasping edge, they calmed. She turned her head to face his. He looked at her. His eyes shifted from the trail of sweat running down her neck to her eyes, glistening and caught on his. Giving him an exhausted blink of her eyes, she grinned at him.

"Nice to meet you." She stuck her hand out, "My name's Jeanie."

* * *

_Sooooo...? What do you guys think? C: I liked this chapter (for once), actually - I'm surprised, cause ususally I'm really nervous about them, like 'ARRGGGH NOT GOOD ENOUGHHHH.' But, this time...Ja. I'm kewl. :D_

_So, a lotta people added this to their list last time, so I hope that, with this chap, you'll review (hint, hint...^-^), cause I'd like to know what people think, if I should bother posting these any more, or if I should just kinda keep them for myself and grind one out every so often for shiz and giggles :L Let me know, peeps! ;D_

_M-Nutty (Das is my new nickname (Minty-Nutmeg is J-Hutchified :D), gewd, ja?) OUT! ;3_


	3. Chapter 3: Halt

_Hey guys! :D Sorry for the wait - once again, my computer crapped out on me...all of my files were DELETED. ;A; Not fun times. I was halfway through a chapter for 'Something To Rely On', which is now delayed as I frantically try to gather my thoughts on what I was going to do with some of it. It was going so well, too. Sigh. T_T _

_Anyway, for 'TWC, NU' (aka, **this, **as you should be aware, ahaha XD) it turned out to help a little that the chapter was deleted in the early stages, as I wasn't happy with how it was going - far, far happier with this. Ah, well. Suppose one good thing in exchange for a __bad thing is alright...I guess... __

_ANYWEH, hope you enjoy the chapter. :)_

_Axarell:__ Yeahhhh Glenn! :D Haha, thanks, it was fun writing that bit: always pegged him as easy to wind up! XD :L Ah, well, you'll just have to see...(HEHE, nah, I wouldn't do that. Even I'm not that dark.) ;) Yay for adrenaline - I get the feeling that it would have been difficult for Glenn to be such an awesome hero without it: although I love the man, he's hardly Mr Universe in the muscle department. :I __Hope the wait for this chap wasn't too long - I know what you mean, it can get a bit much with Daryl all the time, even if we do all love him! :0 Thanks again for reviewing, and I hope you enjoy! :D_

_XxrudexbutxnicexX: Gahhhhh thank you! ;V; Here's the new chapter, hope you like it - and I'll keep trying to make this story as good as it can be! :)_

_NowTomorrowForever__: I don't think she's old enough to be his mum. :I In fact, they never said that T-Dog and Jacqui had any kind of relationship - I just paired them together because I like them both, and because I remembered a scene where they argue about Jacqui staying at the CDC to die. Sorry if it annoyed you, but thanks for showing an interest in the story anyway. :)_

**_DISCLAIMER: _**_Me no own-y. :) _

* * *

Chapter 3 - Halt

Blinking up at the heavy clouds dragging by, diluting the intensity of the beam of light burning the ground beneath him, Glenn felt his leg quiver with a sudden shot of tenseness, a crick in his neck quickly forming as he grunted quietly, blood leaking lightly from a scratch on his arm, dripping onto his shirt. Beside him, absently trailing her wounded fingers over her bloodstained arm, Jeanie stayed quiet, her head leaning awkwardly against a stray brick, legs haphazardly folded over each other as they trembled minutely, supported by her bulging bag full of supplies.

For a while, they had been sitting there, falling back for a much needed rest after introducing themselves to one another, finding themselves suddenly drained of any strength to stand. They hadn't spoken at all since then, stuck in silent ponderings and subconsciously trying to avoid shafts of blinding light as they tried to relax somewhat ineffectually. Glenn didn't have the wits about him to suggest they eat or drink something in the down time they had been afforded, too caught up in his personal discomfort to have the thought of offering her something. Jeanie seemed out of it, herself, eyes glazed over slightly, tinged with a faint hint of the pain her injuries were inflicting upon her.

It seemed to Glenn that they had been there for hours – probably minutes, in all actuality, but his sense of time had become somewhat skewed as of late – when her soft voice abruptly croaked across to him, "Are you alright?"

Lifting his head slightly, eyebrow quirking before a surge of hurt brought it down again, he replied, voice equally rough after all the shouting he had suddenly forced himself to do, "Yeah, I'm in one piece," he glanced down to his seizing leg, raw hands rubbing the flinching muscle, "just about."

She shifted slightly, leg catching for an instant that set her teeth on edge and tinged her answer with some strain, "Good."

Catching himself, Glenn looked round at her, watching as her hand moved away from the drenched gauze tightly wound round her shoulder. Eyebrows furrowing, he fumbled for words, "Uh," he gestured to the blood leaking down her arm, "are you okay?"

Pausing, she turned to him, careful about her movements. After a moment, she admitted quietly, a wry, tired smile straining on her lips, "I've been better."

Eyes flicking down to her wound, he mumbled, "Yeah." Taking a moment of studying the bandage, grimacing at the stark contrast of an overpowering red and dirty white, he sat up, grunting lightly at the action, moving nearer with a painstaking slowness, "You know, we should probably do something with that."

Raising an eyebrow, glancing down at the gauze, she sat up as well, groaning and biting her lip as her legs groaned in protest, "Probably." Frowning, she looked down again, her eyes giving the wound an unconvinced one-over, "Really, though, not sure I can do much, apart from clean it up a little."

Nodding vaguely, already pulling his bag of supplies raided from the abandoned drugstore over, Glenn replied, "Well, let's do that, then – something." She paused for a moment before nodding, and he began to rummage through the supplies, upturning and removing a number of different bottles and foil wrappers before he finally found antiseptic wipes and clean medical gauze. While he had looked away, Jeanie had taken it upon herself to prepare something of a work station, shoving her bag up between her knees and holding it there as a stabiliser for her weak arm, ignoring the blood trickling down onto the thick, mud-covered plastic. Setting down the things he would need, haphazardly shoving everything else back into the bag, swiftly removing a bottle of rubbing alcohol before closing it up again, he spoke, gesturing to the wound, "I'm gonna have to take that off without scissors – I don't have anything like a knife," he thought about the wrench he sometimes took along with him for protection, having left it at camp, abruptly considering the fact that he should probably carry a weapon at all times, "It might hurt, with me pulling at it," she frowned, tensing, and he fumbled for words of comfort, blurting out a weak, "but try not to think about it."

"Wait," she stopped him, and he halted, allowing her to open the bag she was using as support and immediately extract something – a large knife, with a thin handle and long blade, a 'machete', he thought. Passing it over to him, she closed the bag back up again, as he inspected the new tool, "Use that."

Nodding, he shrugged, "Alright." Deciding to not delay the unpleasant business any further, taking a breath to stop himself from being visibly unnerved at the prospect of having to deal with a serious, gashing injury himself, he brought the machete up, carefully nicking the outermost layer of bandage, ripping upwards to the edge at her sunburnt collarbone. Looking up, searching her steady face for any sign that he had hurt her, finding none, he continued to tear the gauze away from her skin with the blade, wary of worsening the wound beneath.

As he advanced further into the thick layers of material, more blood poured out, unnervingly dense. The faint outline of the gash was beginning to form before him, alarmingly vast across her flesh, an intense dread starting to crawl through his mind as he began to realise the extent of the damage dealt. Still, despite it all, her face remained stone in its movement, eyes looking steadily over his shoulder, uttering no whimper or grunt of pain. It got to the point where he was afraid of using the machete any more, unable to trust that he wouldn't carve her skin inadvertently, dispensing of the weapon and instead slowly pulling apart the gauze with his hands, willing them to stay firm in the face of impending gore.

Finally, he had reached the last section to be taken off. Peeling the completely saturated material away, his eyes widened, and he subconsciously shifted away, hands dropping the gauze to the floor with a sickeningly wet slap.

A gash larger than his hand was split across the plane of her shoulder, at least a square-inch of flesh on the outer edges missing completely, dotted fragments of carnage swept across the area, blood festering and coagulating around the worst lesions. Pus was in the early stages of development, oozing from what looked like a section of exposed muscle. A stench of decay permeated the wound, alarmingly reminiscent of the putrid reek walkers secreted.

With a wound like that, she should be part of the crowd below.

It took a lot of his willpower to suck down an abrupt need to vomit, biting his tongue so hard that it bled, the sharp, metallic sting seeping down his gullet. Forcing himself to swallow the threat of bile, he slowly moved closer again, carefully picking up the bottle of rubbing alcohol, a vague thought at the back of his mind, ignoring the panicked bursts of horror, telling him that he would be just as well dumping the lot of it onto the gash, for all the good it would do. Knowing that they were coming upon the most painful part of the whole thing, he glanced up at her, realised from the sudden sharpening of her eyes that she already knew that, and unceremoniously tipped the entire contents of the bottle over the wound.

Jaw clenching, Jeanie tensed, hand jerking and eyes flickering for a few moments before slowly edging back to their spot above his head. Quickly looking away from her, finding himself too distracted, he quickly tore open the pack of antiseptic wipes, shaking one out and bringing it into his hand, grimacing in the faint moment before abruptly swiping across the edges of the lesions. This time, she positively jumped, a grunt escaping her bitten lips, shoulder recoiling from the agonising touch, held unwillingly in place by Glenn's guilty grip, a curse escaping him as he tried to hurry the process of cleaning the wound. Each hurried, clumsy stroke forced her legs further up to her chest, her face pressing harshly into her knees, biting the surface of her jeans.

Wasting no time, Glenn finished cleaning, dropped the wipe carelessly to the ground, and grabbed the clean roll of gauze, attempting to tear it open anxiously for a few seconds before a glance at the thin sheen of sweat beginning to form on her skin pushed him to rip it open with his teeth, the bundle tumbling out onto his lap, snatched swiftly up into his grasp, the plastic wrapper quickly abandoned to the wind. Having never taken a first-aid course, the extent of his medical experience being holding his friend's hair back as he vomited into a basin during a drunken bender, he ineptly wrapped her shoulder as tightly as he could, awkwardly spinning the roll of gauze around itself over and over in an imitation of what he had seen of medical practices on TV. Eventually, the swathe of material came to an end, and he clumsily cut the last remnants of it in two before tying it together in a serviceable knot.

Finally, he was finished.

Moving his hands away, he shifted back, allowing her room to breathe. After a moment of still silence, her head slowly pulled up from her knees, eyes painfully opening up and glancing immediately across to her newly dressed wound. Allowing her legs to sink back down, right arm falling to her side, she studied her left shoulder, elevated on her bag, closely. Pausing, absently accepting her machete back, placing it back in her bag, her eyes bored into the fresh bandage.

Eventually, blinking firmly, she looked up at his grim face and gave him a grateful smile, "Thank you."

Tearing his eyes away from the disheartening red spot already beginning to seep into the fabric, stopping his shoulders from slumping, he looked at her, grinning weakly, "Don't mention it."

For a while, they sat in silence, until she abruptly found the power in her legs to hike herself up, both alarming and impressing him with her audacity, wasting no time in walking to the edge of the roof once more, gently holding her left arm out from herself slightly, careful not to thump it against anything. Looking on in curiosity for a moment before realising that she was checking the state of the situation they were both in, Glenn followed, gritting his teeth and shoving himself off of the brick floor, limbs groaning with tiredness, and stumbled over next to her, leaning heavily against the low edge of the wall beside her.

They sat in silence for a few moments, staring at the mass of walkers below, who were still insistently clawing at the wall, having lost sight of them above but possessing enough remnants of instinct to know that if they wanted food, they had to get through the building. Pulling himself away from the gritty bricks to lean back on a rusty air vent, he spoke, quiet so as not to rouse the attention of the walkers, "I think we're stuck here for now."

Nodding distractedly, frowning lightly before turning back to him, she replied, soft, "I think you're right." Eyes back on him, she looked down from him to the large, standing vent, pausing for a moment before her eyes suddenly flashed with recognition, her voice raising slightly before she brought it down again, flinching and glancing below to see if she had been heard, "Hey - where's that go to?"

Confusedly looking to where she was for a moment before realising she meant the vent, Glenn stepped away from it, joining her at a couple of feet away, staring at it. Pausing, she moved forward, crouching next to it, not yet sticking her head in, obviously wary of falling into the large gap after her last battle with gravity. Allowing her a moment to study the thing herself, he went over to the edge of the roof again - this time to the front, to look out onto the main street.

Looking straight down, gripping the cement tightly so as not to fall over, quickly scanning down the length of the building, he spotted what he had been hoping for: a door. From what he could tell, the building they were on was a series of apartments built above a candy shop, if the large sign shaped like a lollipop above the doorframe was any indication, glass littered on the ground from where some looters with misguided priorities had broken into it. Eyebrows furrowing with thought, glancing over in the direction where the walkers remained crowded in, he whispered over his shoulder, "Hey," he kept looking down to the ground level, repeating himself when he heard no immediate answer, "Hey, there's a door down there."

He turned to find Jeanie directly behind him, looking over the roof, making him jump in surprise, hands flying to the backs of his legs when he bashed into the wall from fright, quietly groaning. Jeanie, realising she had frightened him with her surprising ability to remain inconspicuously quiet, bit her lip, eyebrows flying up and denting with concern as she moved forward immediately, breathing a soft apology, halting as her left arm flew up, clenching with pain. Both consumed with pain for a moment, they remained silent, until, finally, Glenn brought the strength to him to look up at her, gingerly picking at the edge of her bandage, nervously regarding the growing splatters of blood lightly staining the inner layers of gauze.

Seeing her her eyes growing hard, he took a gulp of air and gave her an awkwardly reassuring smile, inquiring gently, "Do you want to sit down again?"

She looked up, breathing a quiet sigh. Then, returning his smile, she nodded, eyes softening, "Yeah." There was a silence as they both walked back over to near the air vent, to a series of pipes presumably once filled with water if the rust stains were any indication – although, the mains had long since stopped running, with the government-run purification plants having been overrun, he presumed. Letting the backs of her legs hit the low wall adjoining the pipes, Jeanie slowly sank to the ground, Glenn joining her, grunting as his sore legs twinged in protest to the excess of movement.

They were quiet for a moment before she pointed to the vent, turning to him as she spoke, "The air vent goes down into a room," he looked to where her dusty finger was indicating, craning his head to get a better look as she continued, "a maintenance room, I think." She paused, hands absently swiping over her knees, "You said you saw a door out front?"

Glenn nodded, "Yeah, down on the bottom floor, out front. Looks like a candy store-front...smashed up pretty bad."

She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking for a moment before she spoke again, "If we can get into the maintenance room from the vent, we can get down to that door and out of here. Then-" Abruptly, she broke off. There was a pause, where Glenn regarded her confusedly, unsure about her sudden halt. He was about to ask her what was wrong when she spoke again, "Well, I – " she shut her mouth, quieting. When she continued, her words were beginning to turn to babbles, "I will –" She halted, "You can go back to your camp." She suddenly turned her head away, eyes boring intensely into the ground.

Glenn paused. Looking on as she remained silent, his eyebrows furrowed with confusion again. He was struck with the sensation of standing back and seeing something he hadn't before – experiencing a whiplash like realisation: she was a complete stranger that he knew nothing about. He didn't know where she had come from, what she used to do, what she had hoped to be, what her family and friends were like, her strengths or weaknesses, her hobbies, talents, dreams: he knew only her name, and distinctly nothing else. It didn't bother him – the people he was living with had all been strangers, after all – but this was different: he felt as though there was nothing he could say or do that would really ever stop her eyes looking like that, permanently affected and eternally pondering on something long past. There was nothing anybody could really do. The person who could have was probably dead.

He turned away. Neither of them said anything to the other. Without much thought, he reached into his bag and pulled out a bag of chips, handing them to her along with a quiet inference for her to take another of the pills he had given her. Accepting the chips silently, she popped the bag open and began to chew, silently throwing back a pill from the foil pack, gulping some water from a canteen in her pocket, passing it over to him to take a sip, only looking up from the ground to stare at a fly, bloated with rotting carrion, slowly dragging through the air with a quiet buzz.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a drop of blood pool on her new bandage and fall to the ground with a quiet _plink_, and he snapped.

Turning to her, ignoring the screech of his muscles as he moved closer, grabbing her startled attention as his baseball cap shifted with the sudden swivel, he whispered, "Come with me."

The potato chip in her hand, halfway to her lips, was suddenly forgotten, and the canteen held in her grasp fell to her side, dripping water onto the ground. She turned to look at him with a wide look reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights. Pausing, her eyes darted up to his. Then, she turned away again, pushing the food into her mouth, mumbling, "You don't have to do that."

There was a silence before he replied, a bemused frown slumping his chapped lips, "Do what? Help you?"

She shoved another chip in, seeming to have lost any of the savouring pleasure she had derived before, "Take me along because you saved my life." She paused, barely chewing as she blandly consumed more sustenance, mechanical and stiff. "You don't have to do that. You've helped me so much already – too much for a normal person."

He shook his head, disbelieving, barely stopping a nervous laugh that threatened to bloom in his chest, totally out of nowhere, startling him with the bizarre randomness of the feeling, "What, you don't think it's normal to help people who are about to die?"

The chip in her hands snapped, and she stared after it, taking a moment before continuing to eat, only speaking after taking a brief pause to swallow it, voice firm with an unwanted certainty, "Not anymore." She finally glanced at him for a fleeting moment, shifting closer into herself, "I wish it still was, but people are different now. I don't-" She trailed off. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and barely audible, "I don't really think much of anybody anymore. You're the only person I've seen who even-" She stopped, his eyes boring into hers as a tense silence enveloped them. Shifting away, her voice dropped further, a mere whisper floating through the wind, "It's never going to be like it was, and I know it – I'm not stupid...but it's not that." She glanced up at him, her eyes seeming to try to convince him of something, before looking away again as she spoke, "It's not that - it's _people_. We – we're-" She trailed off.

Something really tore then. He sat, frozen, for a moment, unable to say anything, mouth hanging open as he took in her resigned stoop and grim face, then moved forward, his voice reaching out with a gentleness that surprised himself, "Hey," she didn't look at him, eyes fixed on her closed hands, the bag of chips laying forgotten in her lap, "Hey, come on, now." He lay his hand on her uninjured shoulder, and she turned to face him, "Jeanie?" She looked up. With her staring at him, he found himself stuck for a moment. It was only after a pause, filled with only the faint whistling of the wind and the ever present drone of dead surrounding them, punctuating every moment of their lives, that he found himself able to formulate words, "I don't know what happened out there." Her eyes bored into his, unflinching, "What happened to you, I don't know. But, I know that you have to-" He halted, suddenly unable to force himself to tell her so something so callous as 'move on'. Nor could he edge out 'leave it behind.' It seemed cruel, somehow, to just snap at her that she had to abandon any hellish memories or lingering guilt, whatever it was that darkened her gaze, because the situation demanded it – she shouldn't have to ignore it all. What right did he have to tell her to pay no heed to any of the horrors she had experienced, surviving alone in a world like theirs, when he had always had a substitute family to support and protect him?

So, instead of telling her that she had to ignore it, to move on, to do things that he didn't know he could do himself, he moved closer and told her, "You can't let it destroy you."

Firm, her eyes stared up at him. His hands remained where they were, on her shoulders, gently keeping a hold on her, thoroughly unimposing in comfort. After a long, silent pause, she looked away, her abruptly collapsing gaze falling away to her lap, her lips thinning as she bit the inside of her mouth, eyebrow twitching lightly as strands of tired looking hair dropped down to her face and over her face. She looked as though she wanted to speak, but couldn't find the right words.

He was about to provide her an out from the conversation, an exit to easily disconnect herself from him, when she spoke, eyes suddenly flashing up to his again, alight, "I won't." Shaking her head, stiff and slow, she continued, Glenn watching, "In this world, you stay focused - or you die; I know that's how it is." She looked away, "I don't want to die." Her eyes twitched down, "Not to them." They sat in silence, both wordless, as the meaning of her words needed no explanation – the groans that flooded the world below than their temporary island of safety, answered who 'they' were.

Hesitating, her gaze flitted between him and the ground when her hands suddenly reached up, taking a grasp of his, and, just when Glenn had thought she was going to push it away, she brought it closer, hooked it round her neck, and hugged him. Her head pressed into the side of his, her good arm encircling his back and reaching up to his shoulder blades as she mumbled, voice muffled against his t-shirt, "Thanks."

Stunned for a moment, his arm sitting complacently as his struck brain tried to work his limbs, it took him a pause to bring both of his arms round her, enveloping her in a better hug, avoiding her injury with a careful shift. Absently noting the warmth of her, he replied, voice low and comforting, "No problem."

They sat for – he didn't know how long. All he knew was that, by the time Jeanie gently pulled away, her reassuring hand falling to her lap as his arms released their soft hold, her eyes were drooping and tired, bags abruptly dragging down on her lids. From her concerned gaze, he supposed he looked much the same, having been out all day, scavenging supplies for the camp, before suddenly finding himself in the crossfire of a leap of faith. The darkened rooftop they were in was bathed with shadows swimming at the edges of his vision, a few insects joining the swollen fly and buzzing by in the gloom, interspersed within the perpetual drone in the background. Turning his head down to her, he gave her a tired smile, "I think we should get some rest before tomorrow," he paused, "you're going to come with me, right?"

Giving him an exhausted twitch of her lips, she laughed quietly, "Yeah. I'll come with you."

His grin widened, and he gave her a little shake of her shoulder before moving away, "Great! For a minute, there, I thought I was going to have to kidnap you to get you back to the camp."

Again, she laughed, her good-natured smile flicking upwards, "I wouldn't have let you."

He nodded, "I bet you could kick my ass if you wanted."

She hummed an affirmative, stretching her legs that still shivered lightly beneath her. They paused lightly, the air between them far less foreboding than before, as she turned her back to the wall, head falling back to lean on the brick, silently letting out a gulp of air.

Glenn, taking her example, shifted away and allowed himself to fall back, huffing a quiet grunt of exhaustion, one of his hands pulling his overflowing bag over to remove a blanket, watching as she hooked a foot in her bag strap and hiked it up to her awaiting hands, opening it and rummaging around within before extracting a similarly thin blanket, considerably dirtier and beaten than his own – his mind absently wondered on how long it had been since she had been safe enough to wash herself, noting her disheveled appearance and promising himself that he would ask Amy to give Jeanie some of her spare clothes, knowing the young, happy blonde would be eager to help another woman her age.

Throwing their raggedy covers over their shivering bodies, barely shielding them from a sudden onslaught of wind battering the sides of the high building, both were grateful that they had the sense to sit in a somewhat shielded enclave of brick. Lying down, they were silent, trying to ignore the monotonous drone that set their teeth on edge, gripping their blankets with a loosely exhausted hold, numb legs trapping them in any semblance of warmth.

Her voice, starting to drag down with a quiet yawn, extended out to him with a fatigued breath, "Night, Glenn."

Holding back a sleepy croak, he replied, face falling to crush the bag he was using as a pillow, "Don't let the walkers bite."

Her soft laugh fell at the end, draining to a gentle whoosh of air as she finally fell asleep.

Turning his head with a weary shift, Glenn glanced over at her, her relaxed face turned up to the stars, injured arm held aloft on her chest as it lifted slowly up and down with soft breaths, steady and calm. Eyes falling to her shoulder, his gaze darkened upon seeing the spattering of blood. Something, a dark thought on the edge of his mind, panicking him with its truth, told him that that injury had to be dealt with soon – very, very soon. It looked as though it had been bad for a long time before his sharp, rough grab on her to pull her onto the roof had torn it further. The paled skin surrounding the gauze was speckled with discolour, veins popping out and trailing along the hanging limb, up her neck and at the edge of her face. Despite having no medical experience whatsoever in all his life, he knew that it wasn't good. If he didn't get her back to camp soon, his niggling instinct, awoken the first time he was almost devoured alive by another human being, was telling him that things were not going to go well.

Hesitating, he gripped the bag beneath him tighter in his aching hands, a long pause dragging by before he willed himself to quietly move it over to his right, closer to her, his body trailing alongside it before he was a few mere inches away from her, his face still down turned on his bag, eyes worriedly dancing over her impressively calm features. His gaze abruptly snapped to a thin scar, sliced cleanly from the top of her right cheek to just above her brow, surprising him with the fact that he had not spotted it before. However, considering it for a moment, it was no mystery why he had not seen it before, really – it was not disfiguring or roughly hewn. In fact, there was a careful precision to it that chilled him - though, for what reason, he could not say. The only thing he could be certain of was that the scar held an air of carefulness to it, with a bizarre narrowness and accuracy that made no sense.

It took a long time, sitting there, turmoil over the origins of that mysterious scar, on what could possibly have befallen her, out, alone on her own in the hell that the walkers had forced upon them, and how to get the both of them out of the festering city alive and in one piece eating away at his thoughts before exhaustion finally set in, closing his eyes, turning his head away and letting him fall under the merciful blanket of sleep.

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_Well, what'd you guys think? :D Drop a review, if you have the time - reviews=motivation and HAPPINESS! :3 I realise there wasn't much going on in the chapter - more of a necessary linking chap, with some bonding between Jeanie and Glenn. C: Next chap shall be punchy and dramatic to DAH MAX. XD _

_Fun fact: this chap was originally merged with the next one (I've already got that partially written and totally planned), but I abruptly came to the conclusion that it would total nearly 10,000 words. I saved your lovely little brains some amount of strain. :0_

_Thanks for checking this out, everybody, and remember - reviews are the food of GODS! :D_


	4. Chapter 4: Race

_Heyyyyy guys! :D Sorry for the wait on this chapter, I've started uni now, and have been quite busy lately. Anyway, I'm gonna get straight to it this time! Way more action this chapter, so I hope you like it, and thanks to everybody for reading as usual! :)_

**_Axarell_**_ - Hehe, glad you were happy to see the new update! :D Oooh, well, things'll become clearer over time...let's just say you're right about the new world not being kind to women. :0 I totally agree with you about rushed romances - it really ruins things in the story when people just move things too quickly. I'm always really wary of that, I've actually been so put off by it that I'm almost frightened of advancing the romance forward, sometimes, like I can't pick a good time to start it up in case it's too early. :I A blessing and a curse. :L Anyway, thanks again for your review, and I hope you enjoy this! :D_

_**ILoveReadingAndWriting**__ - Thank you very much! :'D So happy you like this so far - hope you enjoy this, beloved 'loyal fan' (THANK YOU FOR THAT C':)! :D_

**_tomhiddlest0ner_**_ - Ahhh thank you, thank you! :'3 Hope you continue to enjoy this story - have fun reading this chap! :)_

_DISCLAIMER - Me no own-y! :D_

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Chapter 4 - Race

Slowly trickling down, glinting in the morning light, skipping over the chunks of bile coagulating on the smooth steel blade, the murky drop of walker blood fell to the ground, staining the sidewalk as they continued on. Looking vaguely behind them, eyes darting about distractedly as he kept an eye out for the signs of a mob on their tail, Glenn softly edged Jeanie's trembling arm further over his shoulder, letting loose a gentle whoosh of air as she tripped over an abandoned suitcase, instinctively shifting closer to him for support.

In truth, she was holding him up as much as he was holding her, both still exhausted and broken, muscles chafing against bone and aching terribly as they walked, limping with a deeply throbbing pain penetrating every movement. Deciding that he had caused enough agony to her gaping shoulder wound, guiltily observing as she tried to pull a sweater on when they stopped for a brief reprise back at an abandoned MARTA station, grimacing with the pain, he had softly pushed the scavenged garment over her head, gently moved her quaking hands aside and taken her right arm, hooking it over his back and around to his front, pulling her against him and allowing her head to fall to the crook of his sweat-drenched neck, pale and silent. Wiping at his saturated forehead, Glenn sighed.

It was going to be a long day.

-TWD-TWD-

That morning, sunlight already beginning to blind his resting eyes, Glenn had stirred to find her awake, at the edge of the roof, holding stiffly onto the brick. Something in her stance alarmed him, and he snapped up, his dazed head going lightheaded for a moment as a rush of blood flooded his brain.

Opening his mouth, about to croak out a question, she snapped around with an abrupt swivel, her eyes widening as she heard him, a hand flying up to her mouth, immediately silencing him. He stared at her, confused, his eyes suddenly catching on the machete glinting in her hands, his entire body tensing with an unexpected spurt of fear. However, instead of betraying every trust in humanity he still maintained, she carefully walked back over to him, handed him the machete, and whispered to him as low as humanly possible, eyes giving him a meaningful push, "We're leaving. Now."

Instead of giving into temptation and sitting back for an explanation, her sharp, tense gaze and sickeningly pale skin stirred him to clumsily stand, ignoring any lingering pain in his limbs, throwing his blanket over his shoulder before stuffing it into his bag, heaving his load onto his back. Turning, he found her doing the same, her giant hiking bag haphazardly flung over her uninjured shoulder. Suddenly remembering his attempt to mend the giant gash carved into her flesh, he glanced down to the bandage, finding the gruesome sight of a dripping pool of blood, discolour spreading across her collarbone and trailing down her arm, still more poisonous looking veins strangling the flesh it covered.

Panicked, he looked up, ready to stop her from jumping down the vent she was already standing before, but she stopped him in his tracks, her knowing gaze flickering away as she stuffed her bag down the gap, "No time. Come on." With that, quickly giving him a final fleeting glance, she swung her legs up, pushed them into the vent, and slid down, a muted thump telling him she'd fallen into the room below. Alarmed by the suddenness of her exit, he quickly finished packing, gingerly shoved the intimidating weapon in his hands through his belt loop, and, wasting no time in following her, jumped down the vent, hoping that there would be a stable landing in the cards for him.

With a loud thump, he fell to the dirty carpet, a cloud of dust flying up from where he had impacted, rolling slightly with the height of the fall, a quiet, muffled groan coming from him as he bashed his leg against a grimy cleaning trolley. Looking up, wiping a smear of dirt from his face, he found her anxiously pacing before the door, silently strumming her fingers on her thigh. Finally coughing past the dust swarming his gullet, he gasped out, "What's going on?"

Not turning around, she answered, bending down to fiddle with the doorknob on the cheap wood, shaking it insistently, "We don't have any time, Glenn – they'll be done soon." Pausing, she cursed softly, a hand flying up to scrape her hair away from her sickly looking face.

Eyebrow flying up as she tore her bag open, rummaging within, he stood, leaning partially against a pile of abandoned boxes which smelled like urinal cakes, distractedly fixing his lopsided hat, "What?" She didn't reply immediately, still insistently searching her pack, and so he repeated himself, coming forward with a hesitant stumble, "Who's going to be done? With what?" Muttering under her breath, she shoved her bag away, fumbling in her pockets, hands flying over her jeans for any possible storage space. Glenn, unnerved by her continuing lack of explanation, pushed himself off of the boxes, coming forward and insistently hissing to her, "Jeanie, come on, talk to me for God's sake!"

"_We don't have time_." She had swivelled round to him for only a brief moment, teeth clenched, gaze strained. Taken aback, Glenn shifted away, eyes widening. She only looked on for a second more before turning away again, rummaging once more amongst her belongings with vigour. After a few minutes of silence, Glenn staying quiet as he let her work, struck by the sudden flash of desperation he had seen in her eyes, she clearly realised she would not find the elusive thing she was seeking and cursed again, hands clenching into fists, finally turning to him, voice cracking slightly, "– _I_ don't have time." He stared at her, alarm widening his eyes as he held in his clumsy bundle of questions, gaping uselessly as she pointed swiftly to the door, swallowing thickly, "Listen, I don't have any more bobby pins – I can't pick the lock." She paused, grimacing, biting her thumb. Then, moving her hand away to stiffly gesture backwards again, she informed him heavily, "We have to knock the door down."

Eyebrows furrowing, Glenn felt his head shaking of its own accord as he vehemently protested, his hasty whisper clogged with the thick dust that was beginning to cloak them, settling into the crevices in his itchy, sweat-stained clothes, "It's gonna make too much noise – they'll _hear_ us."

Shaking her head, she breathed out a deep sigh, "I know, but there's nothing else for it." She moved her right shoulder against the door, waiting for him to shove his bag off, nervously edging over and pushing himself up next to her, their breaths mingling in a humid haze. Eyes boring into his, she nodded steadily, "We go at the same time." There was a brief silence, where they tensed their muscles in anticipation of the impending collision, before she spoke once more, swift, "3, 2, 1-" Both of them shifted back and then slammed themselves into the wood. Grunting in pain, Jeanie's eyes squeezing tightly shut as she took an unsteady breath, they moved back, "3,2, 1-" Again, they smashed their full body weight against the door, an audible crack reverberating about it, the wood straining. Looking at each other, gasping, recognising the quickly breaking wood, they prepared themselves once more, hastily coming back, "3,2,1-"

Abruptly, the door gave way, collapsing beneath them, fragments flying off as the majority smashed against the wall with a thunderous crash. Barely holding themselves back from flying after the broken obstacle, grabbing each other for a weight to hold onto, they heaved the dusty air into their lungs for a scarce few seconds. Pausing for the slightest of moments, they looked at each other, hearing the ominous moan in the background of their shared hesitation, and then, suddenly, Jeanie furrowed her brow, shakily heaved her bag up again, and moved on, her uneven footsteps echoing down the corridor. Immediately, Glenn was behind her, his rucksack flung back in its resting place between his shoulder blades as he shifted the machete she had given him back into his grip, fingers tensing with the sudden, familiar rush of adrenaline filling his head, edging him on.

The trip down through the building was uneventful – shockingly so. Despite the largely unaffected appearance of the candy store front, he had been certain that the small block of offices shoved atop it would be house to at least a few overly dedicated workers that chanced an ultimate death in order to maintain their busy urban lifestyle. However, no walkers forced their hand as they carefully strode forward, ears and eyes primed for any hint of danger – and the only rotting smell permeating the place was that of an abandoned, rotting lunch trapped within a defunct fridge.

He stayed close to Jeanie, who was determinedly carving a path for them both despite only having a faint idea of where they were going, eyes fixed ahead and swivelling about to every open door they passed. With each step they took, despite her dogged attempt at focus on getting them out, pushing through the bizarrely long corridors lengthened by his overly alert mind, he could sense her injury catching up to her, chasing her down and gaining quickly. He had to push aside the burning urge to stop her, just for a minute, to get her to eat something, if only to bring some colour back to her frighteningly drained features – instead, remaining quiet until they reached a lone set of stairs to the ground floor, pausing. Only then was when she stopped, her legs coming to a halt as she stared down the perfectly ordinary set of steps as though they were the stairway to the depths of hell – and, he supposed, they were. Their brief reprise atop the building had come to an end, and now they were about to go back amongst the monsters that were intent on devouring them. It was an altogether disheartening thought.

Taking a deep breath, they both glanced at each other, eyes dark, and began the painfully slow descent to their exit. The steps creaked in such a excruciatingly loud way that his teeth set on edge, biting his tongue sharply as Jeanie nearly stumbled, catching herself on the banister and his immediately present arm. They walked the rest of the way down like that, her strained breathing muffled slightly as she braced herself from making too much noise, Glenn gently keeping hold of her arm, fearful that, after all she had gone through to get this far, she would be ended by an ill-timed step and tumble down some stairs. As they reached the end of the steps, he rested his free hand on his belt, tugging at the machete slightly, ready to pull it out at the slightest movement, Jeanie shifting slightly in as she turned to glance behind them, making certain that there was nothing following. Reaching the bottom of the staircase, swivelling around, they found themselves alone apart from the armies of mindless drones outside.

Smiling with some measure of relief, surprised that at least something had gone right for once, Glenn turned to Jeanie, ready to devise a plan of attack for getting across Downtown and back to Shane's Hummer – when, abruptly, she shoved herself out of his soft grip, stumbled backwards, and vomited all over the stairs they had just vacated.

Horrified, he looked on for a moment, stunned into inaction, before his senses kicked in and he hastily moved to her side, clumsy hands scraping her sweaty hair back from her all-too warm scalp, hesitantly patting her convulsing back as a spray of what basically amounted to water with a few sad flakes of salted chips floating around in it violently expelled itself from her. Uncertainly, he murmured some quiet encouragement, pulling her obstructive bag away, his own stomach, although churning at the cloying, acidic smell, slightly resistant from dealing with his suffering friends after overly wild binges. When the torrential, endless gagging stopped, gradually petering out to wet, quiet coughing as she slumped back, exhausted, he caught her again, pulling her back slightly and away from the pool at her feet, leaning her against his front and nervously putting his hand to her head, feeling the clammy heat that suffocated her temple and blurred her unfocussed gaze.

Alarm growing as the tense seconds crawled agonisingly by, he whispered to her, wary of alerting any nearby geeks, who he could hear stumbling about on the street outside, voice insistent, "Jeanie?" No response came, her eyes blinking owlishly, slow, before he repeated himself, worriedly shaking her for good measure, trying his best to avoid her injury, "Jeanie, speak to me, _please._"

Just when he felt the terrible panic starting to intensify, overwhelming him, she suddenly shifted, eyes coming back into focus, hands twitching. Silent, he watched her, waiting for her to speak as she looked up at him, features strained as she slowly came back to life and murmured quietly, "That's why I gave you the machete."

"What?" His quick response wasn't met with a swift answer, "What do you mean?"

"I don't think I can do this much longer," she suddenly grimaced, groaning, "It hurts." She sighed heavily, breaths strained as she continued, right hand shakily trying to reach across to her left, "My arm – shoulder – it-"

She didn't get any words out before Glenn immediately shifted her, carefully but quickly pulling her arm into his grip. He didn't even need to see underneath the bandage to assess the damage – some frightening yellow liquid had started to seep out from the sides, a steady trail of blood smeared across her arm, dripping down intermittently, veins popping around the wrapped area. Glancing away, he paled. Placing her arm gently down again, he stared at the ground. Then he looked up, a weak attempt at comfort uncertainly eeking out from him, "It'll be fine."

"…That bad, huh." He stared at her, silent, completely lost, as she elaborated, "I can see it in your face." She paused. Looking away, her head shook, her eyes straining, voice dropping to a quiet whisper, "What are we going to do?"

Wordless, his eyes flicked away, unfocussed and wide. The moans outside the cracked, blood-splattered window floated through the humid Georgian air, the intense sunlight outside pouring in and reflecting off of the coloured glass jars full of candy, a spectrum streaking across the linoleum floor, brightening a few stray leaves, withered and crushed on the hard plastic. Without thinking about it, he began to gently stroke the hand at her injured side, fingers catching in the sweat pooling around the popping veins. It probably comforted him more than her. In truth, although he couldn't say it aloud, he had no plan – he was stuck. This was why he never took anybody with him into the city, he thought dazedly to himself, thumb dragging slowly over her clammy palm that shook in his grasp. He couldn't protect anybody but himself. He could go alone – nobody to lose, then. But he couldn't – he just _couldn't_ – do this. He wasn't a hero, despite how _much_ he wanted to be.

Her hand abruptly gripped his, pulling him back to reality, his head flicking down, suddenly meeting her tired eyes. He vaguely wondered why she was smiling when the situation they were in was so unimaginably bleak, and managed a weak, 'What are you-' before the grip she had on his hand intensified, and she tugged his arm, rolling unsteadily away. Before he had even had a chance to protest and settle her back down again, she had grabbed a hold of a nearby counter, filthy with dust and muck that had come through a crack in the nearby window, and slowly pulled herself up.

Dumbstruck, he stared up at her, silenced by her sudden burst of strength, when her voice reached him, soft, "Your face is like an open book, you know. You should try to hide that more." She looked to him again, a saturated bang slipping back to fall across her temple, roughly cut just above her eye-line, "If you weren't such a good guy, I would tell you to leave me – but there's no point in trying, is there?" He blinked, nodding slowly, and she continued, "Well. We better get going, then."

Glenn took a moment before her words sunk in, and then jumped up, ignoring his aching legs, rejuvenated by her determination. She flicked her eyes across the countertop she was leaning heavily against as he gathered himself, her weak smile strengthening slightly upon sight of a jolly looking jar filled with little green candies, a hand reaching out to grasp it, pulling it towards her. As he came up beside her, heaving her bag atop his own, she managed to clumsily open it, plunging her hand in and grabbing as many of the things as she could, quietly looking down at them, a soft 'used to like these' drifting through the air before she gently popped one into her mouth, shoving the rest into one of her jean pockets, heedless of the grime. Looking across to him as he waited patiently, adjusting the straps on her rucksack, she frowned, brow furrowing as she gestured to the pair on his back, "Both bags?" She shook her head at his nod, "It'll kill you – physically and maybe even literally. Let me take mi-"

"-No." Her head shifted back, surprised, as he shook his own, "You can barely stand up." He paused, shifting about for a moment, "It's not _too_ bad-" that was something of a white lie, as it was already straining his tired, weak muscles, "-it'll probably hurt tomorrow, but I can take that." Awkwardly, he smiled in an attempt at reassuring her, and she frowned, unconvinced, halting in her consumption of the much-savoured sweet. Sighing inwardly as he looked to the window, seeing a stray walker stumble jerkily across the sidewalk across the street, his smile fell slowly. Turning back to her as she finished her candy, looking out at the same one as he had been, grimacing lightly at the rotting arm that barely clung to it's decaying torso, he murmured sombrely, "Let's go."

Silent, she hesitated again before nodding, pushing away from the counter and taking the arm he outstretched, free from her machete, which stood ready in his reinvigorated right limb, an intent in mind. Helping her to reach the door, he looked at her for a final fleeting moment before they stepped out into hell, allowing them one last moment of safety and quiet.

With a forcibly optimistic 'We'll be back before evening' which neither of them really believed, he bashed the half torn off lock away, opened the door, and they hobbled out into the morning sun.

-TWD-TWD-

It was evening. And they still were not back at the camp.

Unluckily for them both, despite the strange, relative emptiness of the streets they quickly made their way through, they still had to hop down alleyways whenever a walker sprouted up on the horizon. Every so often, they had to dispatch one that just wouldn't shuffle away from where they needed to go, hastily smashing their heads and quickly departing from the scene without checking if they'd been successful in their attack – as long as it was out of the way, they didn't care if the walker was dead or not. Jeanie sensed the danger before he did, oftentimes, ducking both of them down side alleys with a tug on his arm, and throwing a rock to distract the odd walker if it was possible to do so, prompting him on. It was all a bit haphazard at those moments, what with Glenn lugging along two heaving bags and a grown woman in one arm, a gleaming machete in the other - but they managed it.

By the time the sun was setting, they had just pressed themselves into a small lane at the side of the main Downtown street, both glancing up as they waited for a small group of walkers to pass. They were only a few minutes away from the car by that point, Glenn was sure – he checked the map repeatedly to make certain – and the street they had to go down to get to the abandoned train yard was usually quite empty. Though, as Glenn had quickly learnt in his solo adventures throughout the dead city, that could change in a moment.

Beside him, Jeanie leaned against the grimy cement, her eyes closed, having started to droop in the hour before, the effects of the last couple of days finally catching up to her. The sun was starting to fall away for the moon, enhancing the ever-present danger all around them as geeks melted into the shadows, cloaked by the darkness. A little while before, walking down what looked like an empty alleyway, they had received a rather unpleasant surprise in the form of a decayed walker stuck in the middle of two dumpsters, who grabbed at Glenn's leg, unseen by them both in the dying light. Glenn had immediately smashed face first into the filthy brick path, machete nearly stabbing him before he just managed to move it out of the way, narrowly avoiding the fatal point. Struck frozen by panic as the walker leaned out, clawing at his limb, he had no time to even ready his weapon before Jeanie, quick as ever, regained her balance and kicked it straight in the face with her steel-toe capped boots without hesitation, whacking its head off of the stainless steel dumpster with a thump before walloping it once more for good measure, splattering yet more gore over her caked shoes with a final stomp. Looking at each other, a breathless Glenn and Jeanie both grimaced: they were running out of time.

Shifting closer to him as he read the map for a final time, paranoia niggling at his tired mind, Jeanie whispered softly, "Are we almost there?"

He paused for a moment, staring down at the giant intersecting lines and arrows across the life-saving paper in his hands, silent. Then, folding it in again, he finally tucked it away, nodding quietly, "Almost. One more push."

She looked indescribably relieved at this, her pale, dogged expression melting a bit as she thought of being able to lie down for sleep once more – in an actual bed, rather than her ratty, scavenged sleeping bag, Glenn told her. Nodding to herself, she pushed against the wall, automatically hooking her arm around Glenn's neck as he bent slightly for her, gently taking her hand and straightening as they made their way forward once more. They started down the alley, carefully scanning the horizon, glancing behind themselves every so often as they rounded the corner, feet quietly shifting around the detritus of long-gone refugees. A couple of streets down and the sight of a familiar sports shop flooded Glenn with no-small measure of joy: they were only a minute away at this steady rate. Thinking back to all those hours ago, with Jeanie sprawled out on the floor before a pool of her own vomit, he had to admit that this rescue effort had gone far better than he ever thought it could. Coming to the end of the second last street they had to travel through, he smiled exhaustedly to himself – they just might make it out of this.

Just as that hopeful thought passed through his mind, a loud clatter behind them sent Jeanie's swift reflexes flying, swivelling her around and distracting her at the exact moment Glen stepped around the corner, a split second too late to stop him – and he halted.

Before him, stumbling around over the corpse-strewn street, black bile leaking from every orifice, heads slowly turning around to look at him, stood a horde.

He had barely enough time to jerkily gasp at a half-devoured walker a mere few feet away as it turned slowly on its broken, gnawed leg, lumps of congealing flesh brushing off against the stained cement, a low, demonic growl starting to fill the air around them, before he felt a movement at his side, a tug at his arm, and a breathless '_Run.'_

Without thinking, he pulled Jeanie close and started to sprint off down the street, as she, seeming to pull herself together somewhat with a burst of adrenaline, hobbled quickly along, breathing heavily as they raced against the sudden swelling of monsters chasing them down. Backtracking on themselves, they ran past walkers previously avoided, adding more to the mob at their backs as Jeanie, not bothering to whisper anymore with the awful, all-consuming noise reverberating around the city as they were pursued, hollered, "_Go around! Go around! Circle to the other side!" _Glenn followed her prompting blindly, his abruptly on-the-ball brain throwing up carefully memorised directions in his mind, shooting them both down alleyways and side streets, the ground vibrating beneath them as thousands of walkers started to march in their direction, awoken by the noise.

A block away from the abandoned train yard where their only means of escape lay in wait, they quickly scurried through the maze of towering city-blocks like two trapped mice, doubling back around the huge line of dilapidated buildings. Glancing back only put more heated force in their steps, desperation setting in as the quicker and less decayed walkers slowly but surely started to gain on them. Jeanie had given up on bellowing instructions, gasping heavily, breaths short and hitched, sweat dripping off of her, feet starting to tumble over themselves. Stumbling a bit as they came round another sharp corner, she almost fell to the wayside, saved only by Glenn's re-tightened grip. His arms were starting to scream with the increasingly dead weight of Jeanie as she quickly declined in health, his back collapsing as the bad decision to lug two people's loads started to catch up to him and his scrawny, overwrought muscles.

Heaving a breath in as their speed decreased with each step down the last few streets, he tried to gasp out encouragement to both himself and the girl clinging tightly onto him, eyes widening and voice hitching upon seeing the swiftly closing-in horde, "_Come on, you can do it, you can do it – just a little bit more, a little bit more-" _

He didn't have time to finish his hurried sentence as, just at that moment, the rotting remains of what was once a man lurched before them, head stuck facing the distance. With a harsh intake of breath, struck silent with shock, they tumbled into it with such force that they tripped over it, plummeting into the pavement, Glenn rolling slightly away, Jeanie's arm unhooking from him, as he smashed his head against the solid kerb.

Staggered, he tried to get up, blood dripping down his face, the sound of panicked yelps muffled as his head rung, vision an indistinct blur. Coughing up a glob of bile, arms shaking as he tried to push himself up, the looming moans approaching quickly towards him juttering numbly around his head, he looked up, breaths slow and unsteady, blinking heavily as he tried to clear his eyes, making out the hazy figures of Jeanie and the walker struggling on the ground. Pulling himself forward to them, crawling as his legs shakily moved about, heard a devastating crack followed by a blood-curdling scream that pierced his ears, shifting everything about into focus again.

Gasping for air, seeing Jeanie yell desperately as she pushed against the rotting thing trapping her against the cement, left arm crushed beneath them both, Glenn struggled forward. His feet swiped forward, straining with his weight, his knees bashing the ground as he pulled himself up, shaking as he tried to stay upright, blinking rapidly against the intense pain he felt looming before him. Pushed by the terrifying cries of Jeanie as she started to lose the battle for her life, the walker's snarling maw snapping a few inches above her face, he lifted the machete he suddenly remembered was in his hands, and, with an almighty burst of strength which he had never before possessed, he swung with a furious shout down on the its putrid, rotting skull.

The thing immediately went limp, collapsing against Jeanie, who finally buckled under the dead weight, crying out for help, right arm shuddering with uncontrollable spasms as she reached for him, lungs compressed to the point that she was unable to breath. Glenn hurriedly shoved the corpse off with some effort, taking no time to panic at the scarlet blood dripping from her arm and streaked across the street, instead taking a hold of her by the waist, turning, and continuing on, Jeanie stumbling next to him as they hobbled onwards, the closest walker now only one stray tumble away from feasting on them.

They were almost there, almost to the fence, almost home free – he could _see it, it was __**right there right there just a BIT MORE**_.

…they made it.

They stumbled against the building in front of the hidden yard, Glenn smashing the window on their right with a firm strike with the butt of his machete, giving Jeanie a foot-up as she struggled through to the other side, tumbling in after her with an exhausted jump and narrowly avoiding the shards of glass at his feet. Behind them, he heard the walkers bash one-by-one against the brick, so base that they couldn't think to just climb through the window frame to pursue them further. Jeanie had pulled herself somewhat upright, a cough filled with bile hitting the desk she was gripping, retching up the last of what she had ingested. Staggering up, slicing his palm against a stray fragment of the filthy glass at his feet, he lurched forward to her side, taking her hand and pulling her with him through the building, the growing thumps against the wooden door tensing his legs up as he brought her to a back corridor with a hidden exit, shutting the conjoining door behind them as quietly as possible.

Turning to the exit, eyebrows slanting at the quiet murmurs of Jeanie as she softly talked to herself, her dazed words merging together into an unintelligible mess, he twisted the handle to let them out, heaving her ahead of him as a loud bang from behind them brought forth a storm of moans, the walkers finally in. Hobbling as quickly as he could over to the final obstacle they faced, a giant chain-link fence with one gap sliced through the side, he whispered exhaustedly to her, as gentle as he could be as she struggled to keep pace, "Come on, Jeanie, you need to keep moving. Keep walking with me," she gagged again, spitting at the ground, bent at the waist, and he had to pull her up, whispering urgently into her ear, panic at the increasing groans cracking his words, "Come on_, _we've come so far_._ Just a _little bit _more, _please,_ I need you to _listen _to me, Jeanie, come _on."_

She seemed to listen to him somewhat, her incoherent monologue halting abruptly as she groaned, half-consciously shuffling her legs forward, leaning heavily on Glenn as he continued to murmur to her, swiftly pulling the razor-sharp wire of the torn section of fence up to let them stumble through to the other side. Through it, they unsteadily crunched over the pebbly ground to the blessed sight of Shane's Hummer, Jeanie plummeting into the passenger seat, Glenn throwing their bags in beside her as he threw himself into the driver's seat, fumbling desperately around in his pockets for the all-imperative keys. Finding them, he shoved them into the ignition without a pause, twisted, and shoved the gearstick forward, flattening the gas with a loud roar from the engine.

Beside him, Jeanie jerked slightly forward from where she leaned against the bags, face twisted as her blood slowly seeped into the leather seat, bandage torn. Just barely above the snarl of the car as it plunged ahead, her weak outward monologue started up again, breaking and cracking as her whispers wavered in the air, "We bet them. We bet them."

Speeding away from the city of the dead, the droning moans of the monstrous inhabitants fading into the distance, his hands clenched on the wheel.

They were now racing against time itself.

* * *

_Hoped you liked it, everybody! :D I'm being pressured by my mum to get off the computer now, so I better go. I'd really appreciate it if you left me a wee review if you could, and I'll see you next time! :)_


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